


casual bakery interaction

by seademons



Category: Daft Punk
Genre: 90's Daft Punk, Alternate Universe - Bakery, Alternate Universe - Music Store, Human Daft Punk, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-04-18
Updated: 2014-04-20
Packaged: 2018-01-19 20:15:30
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,773
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1482493
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/seademons/pseuds/seademons
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Upon moving in to a brand new apartment elsewhere in Paris, Guy-Man strolls down to the closest bakery he can find for stock supply (read: liquor). Luckily for him, the cute cashier makes it worth the suffering through leather fashion in this heat. </p><p>Really, just the average bakery au.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Bakery

**Author's Note:**

  * For [spellslots](https://archiveofourown.org/users/spellslots/gifts).



This was supposed to be a quick walk, from home to the bakery and back in a moment, not longer than fifteen minutes, but alas; Guy-Man was sweating and frowning in vexation from the heat, the actual distance and himself. The stray locks of hair hovering over his grave expression swayed loosely by the wind, otherwise untouched, as he stomped toward his objective just a few blocks ahead. He knew he shouldn't have chosen black to wear today at this hour, when the sun was nothing but unforgiving, but fashion always called louder than reason ever could, leaving him in a goddamn leather jacket and mad at Parisian summer, although in vogue. So much for building an elegant and yet dismal bad boy look out in the streets; the blind frequency of it had him inattentive to changing seasons. Irritation aside, he looked smoking and, to a sole bachelor, confidence acquired from one's satisfying looks can be vital for the single, protective façade shielding him from potential danger. Albeit the referred peril being of no smuggling or violent kind (those too, of course, but mildly so and not the main focus), but of something deeper; more obscure, even. He wasn't very sure _what_ (or who) exactly he dreaded, but Guy-Man rigidly made a point to hold a threatening and unapproachable display at all times, thus the current scowl and occasional sneer. It, too, added to the fact he was a living pot and his insides boiling subjects to the elevated temperature. 

Upon arriving at the bakery, he was entranced to what annoyed him more; the near-tangible difference between the atmosphere of the outside and inside of the shop (inside being at least a hundred degrees cooler) or the way his cheeks burned through his skin, flourishing the frustration earlier kept within his frame to free exhibition as he let both eyes slip closed and a sigh rush past his lips. Blood pumped uncomfortably on his jowls and loud on his ears, which he proceeded to further ignore by running a hand through greasy hair, pushing the locks dipped in sweat past his forehead to pool at his shoulders with the glistening rest. Leather-clad feet echoed timid footfalls as he strolled through the second set of double doors to the counter where bread and cheese remained to be sold. It took him less than five full minutes to order and retrieve the items, survey the rest of the small store for liquor and intently stare at the sorted croissants section in heavy doubt, which weighted on him because the quicker he left, the less pleasantly cool air would surround him.

But then again, the quicker he left, the quicker he'd get home.

Without as much as another shameless second spent in the croissant aisle, Guy-Man promptly gyrated on his heel to face the cashier, paper bags and wine bottles respectively wrinkling and clinking in hands as he sashayed toward the smiling man by the registry machine. The guy looked a bit nervous while being approached, which had Guy-Man softening his features in natural response; morphing his scowl into a coy smile and erasing the frown completely, lest he so quickly got labeled as The Asshole Customer. This being the only bakery within six mile radius from his new apartment, he couldn't allow himself a bad reputation at all. Otherwise, he would never be able to work up the nerves to show his face across the street from this place. He had no intention whatsoever to frighten workers of which he could come to exploit in the near future, please; the punk façade was only for ill-natured strangers.

"Bonjour." The cashier greeted timidly as Guy-Man stopped across from him, then dropped his gaze to the items crudely and a great deal carelessly dumped before him. "Bonjour." Guy-Man held his voice at the same low tone as the man's, surprisingly pleasant to the ears. His eyes instantly fell on the guy's tag as long and clumsy limbs worked behind that cubicle, aiming to register all of his bohemian possessions in the system. It read Thomas in curious handwriting, full of sharp corners. He raised a brow and allowed his gaze to trail back up to the cashier's face, whose eyes were still cast down, attentive on his hands, which seemed to be unable to hover about without knocking something down, back and forth. Thomas hissed an apology or two every time he bumped onto one of Guy-Man's items before him, earning a genuine smile from the short client ahead, the sort that escapes consciousness for a good while, coming to mind only when distracted, say, by a phone ringing.

Guy-Man caught his mindless grin then and withdrew it, setting his lips in a thin line as Thomas fumbled with all the gathered merchandise that covered the top of the counter (only about ten percent were Guy-Man's possessions), mood set frantic by the call. He nearly dropped the stack of magazines next to him with his left elbow in the pursuit of lifting a random item and putting it back down, afterwards dropping the systematic act to a less elaborate search consistent of both forearms shuffling through the mass that was that counter, each movement more desperate than the previous as precious seconds passed and the phone remained hidden from view. "Is this the phone ringing?" Guy-Man gestured vaguely at the sound with a hand, brow cocked in amusement as Thomas gave a lavish nod for reply. "Oui." The man somewhat bent over the side of the counter by the left, brows knit in focus and despair. Watching him come undone, Guy-Man idly glanced sideways, in some sort of instinctive will to assist the man, and near-immediately eyed the desired system sitting in a corner, behind a tall pile of compact products for sale. No wonder Thomas couldn't see it. "The problem is finding it." His sweet voice had Guy-Man flicking his eyes back at him and the helpless state he was so visibly in deprived Guy-Man of guarding an unintentional smile to himself. He openly _grinned_ at Thomas's shy words while gingerly reaching for the phone and handing it to him. The obvious relief in his face was worth the trouble of leaving home at all today. "Merci." He mouthed at Guy-Man in mid-action of resting the phone pressed between his shoulder and cheek, hands going back to finish cataloging Guy-Man's items into the system, clumsiness redoubled. 

This man was worth a thousand treasure troves.

Not a minute later and Thomas dropped the phone back onto the counter, almost discarding it entirely while snatching a plastic bag and stuffing Guy-Man's items inside. For someone so uncoordinated, he was incredibly gentle with the glass bottles. "Ah, pardon me for the inconvenience." His voice held the same coyness as before as he handed him the bag, right hand set on the counter, mindlessly pushing the phone under a pile of stacked miscellaneousness. Guy-Man fought the urge to pinch his cheek. "Entertainment, not inconvenience." The look of alarm in Thomas's face at that was naught but endearing, all wide-eyed and blushing. It set Guy-Man's insides ablaze, as well as his own cheeks, while helplessly stretching the corners of his lips in horizontal orientation, which widened his grin despite himself. "Je suis Guillaume." He blurted out while extending an arm at Thomas, gazes locked together, and the other wasted but a second to shake hands with him. "Thomas." The French accent rolling off his tongue brought a delicious pronunciation to his name, having Guy-Man inwardly revel at it. "Enchanté." Both said in union, earning a good-humored snort from one and a short chortle from the other.

Guy-Man picked his bag from the clustered counter then and nodded at the cashier, being rewarded with a sweet, broad smile that fit Thomas's face perfectly. "Come back soon." Thomas echoed from behind the counter as his newest customer trotted backward at the glass doors, grinning shamelessly back at him. "Oui, d'accord."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i dont think ill write a continuation or anything to this unless i have an outrageous insight that leads me to a huge writing euphoria but otherwise it will remain as it is
> 
> i actually even went through the trouble of writing this at all because last time i went to the bakery i came across this very flustered cashier who physically reminded me of thomas bangalter and after talking the situation over with lily voilà my muse has inspired me once more so this is dedicated to her


	2. Record Store

Guy-Man absently brushed a stray lock of hair behind his ear; delicate fingers hastily drew back to the record in hands afterwards, eyebrows knit in deep concentration. Should he take this home? His mind swirled in doubt, fists refusing to let the item go. He had a simpler replica home that he used for sampling songs during leisure, so a vintage version of the exact same record would be a waste of money, he supposed. His gaze skimmed over the back of the sleeve again before experienced fingers flipped it over so he could stare at the front cover some more. The sleeve had a slight metallic even lining that reflected the store’s dim lights as he moved it, making the whole thing that much more attractive. Not to mention the vinyl itself was of this translucent material, its very middle tainted velvet red with golden writing. His fingers twitched as he traced a thumb along the glossy edge of it, mind frenzied by overwhelming thought. He was definitely taking this home. It was clearly a rare find and the copy at home was old and busted anyway; despite all the careful handling and noodling. Except this one wasn’t for artistic creation at all, lest it ends up ruined by a tragic misfortune. No, this one was for his private collection. He would listen to it once, maybe twice, before slipping it into the shelf that kept everything he held sacred: favorite books, records, magazine issues, comic issues, movies. It would gather dust but it would never be destroyed or in risk of damage. 

He sighed, finally sure of himself, and lifted his head up high as the claustrophobic weight of uncertainty left his shoulders. He was going to take this home and give it a go the moment he stepped inside, over coffee, post-dusk. Glancing through the glass doors and windows of the tiny record store, he noticed the sun had already set. Ah, another afternoon spent browsing albums and replaying memories at their sight. He smiled to none other than himself at the realization. He felt light, feather-light and fulfilled. An idle day was always a good day and usually meant heavy clubbing later on. A rush of sudden anxiety took over him in a quick fit, having him skid toward the cashier with a wide, mindless grin on his features. He felt giddy and warm and ready to take this record home; the apathetic expression of the cashier while greeting him did nothing to dissolve his high-spirits. He was only grounded back to reality as the bells above the front door shrieked, announcing someone’s entrance. His smile faltered but his positive mood remained, in fact being intensified when he recognized the man tripping his way inside. 

They both noticed each other near-simultaneously. 

“Bonsoir, Thomas.” Guy-Man spoke in a low, soft tune which displayed all the cockiness held within him. He leaned on the counter before the cashier, fingers wagging the record absently as Thomas rubbed the soles of his shoes on the entrance mat out of habit, picture perfect smile in place. “Bonsoir, Guillaume. Comment ça va?” A brief thought of coaxing Thomas into calling him something less formal swiped through his mind, disappearing like wind. “Ça va. Tu?” He noticed the way Thomas strode down the short distance between them like his legs were three-miles long. “Pas mal.” His voice had the pleasant air of amiability that was about custom of him by now; if two encounters can map out one’s personality traits without as much as the distraction of first impressions (although Guy-Man quietly hoped that Thomas’s first impression was an accurate description of him: endearing as all heaven). Upon halting beside him, Thomas dropped his gaze to the precious item in Guy-Man’s hands. The latter clutched it tighter instinctively, drawing it closer to his chest as Thomas rose a hand to point at it. “Ah, is that a Sister Sledge album? I came here to buy the very same one! Bitchin’ music taste, Guillaume.” Thomas snickered whilst slipping past Guy-Man to the short aisle of records beside him, where the oldest of them came across the album earlier. 

The way Thomas moved about gave out the vibes that he was no stranger to this certain store and, were this a different situation, Guy-Man would have asked him how long he’s lived in this neighborhood. He worked at a lovely bakery in the 3rd Arrondissement and was a customer of record stores of the 2nd; the brightest of minds was but required to figure out he probably lived close by. Guy-Man had recently moved from his parents’s house in the 10th Arrondissement to a one-person apartment in the 3rd himself, yet with no actual employment or college application, so if Thomas lived nearby, that could mean a friend to incite him to work and be productive rather than live off his parents’s money. Maybe Thomas would be the one to fight off faineance and accommodation from him, but that was a long and wishful thinking shot. 

As the current situation was clouded with apprehension, Guy-Man glanced down at the record in hands, then back up at Thomas; silent eyes watching him frivolously card through the sleeves of old albums to no avail, unbeknownst to him. “This is the last one in store.” The cashier chimed in, his husky and worn-out voice nearly making Guy-Man jump out of his skin. Thomas merely looked up at the old man, one brow arched up. “Hein?” The man pointed at the record pressed against Guy-Man’s chest with certain labor before repeating himself. “This is the last Sister Sledge album in store. Estimate of stock arrival to next Friday.” The man’s voice rang loudly in Guy-Man’s ears, purposelessly making his cheeks flush in irrational shame. Thomas rose both eyebrows then, mouth forming a silent “oh”. 

It took him five seconds of unforgivingly awkward silence to come up with a verbal reaction.

The absolute totality of embarrassment flowing through Guy-Man’s chest hadn’t quite dissipated yet as Thomas shrugged, dismissing the inconvenience without further ado. He stepped away from the arrangement of records beside him snorting light-heartedly; a trademark grin plastered across his lips. “All the more reason to come back here on a frequent basis, I suppose.” Guy-Man’s eyes lit up at his words, but vocal chords failed to materialize his thoughts. Instead, he remained silent and tilted the album slightly away from his chest for a thoughtful glance. On the meanwhile, Thomas walked back toward him at the front of the shop, leaning on the counter before their eyes met again. “We could share this, you know.” Guy-Man’s tone was delicate, appraisable, careful. Thomas leaned in closer out of curiosity. “If we split the bill, then this is yours as much as it is mine. We can both share it. I mean, you could have it for, I dunno, three days in a row, then I’d have it for three days, ad infinitum.” He shrugged, raising an eyebrow at Thomas that imposed silent inquisition, demanding his thoughts out in the open. In response, Thomas stood quiet for a moment longer with his gaze on the shorter man before him, while his mind drifted into quantum space and back. Guy-Man sighed soundlessly, eyes dropping to the desired album in hands. He ran a palm over its smooth surface, excessive-delicately in order to impress and build himself a positive image in front of Thomas (even if his conscience wasn’t quite here). Personal marketing and the likes. 

“How can you be sure that none of us will break the deal?” Thomas’s voice was cocky as he folded both arms across his chest, waist pressing closer to the counter beside them. Guy-Man smiled downwards at the album, face partially hidden by a long curtain of hair as he spoke. “I can’t. I’ll have to trust you on this one and vice versa. This demands a deeper set of trust from you than me, though, seeing as I know where you work while all you know about me is half my first name and face.” He cast his eyes up at Thomas’s own, then, the smile still intact. The latter bit his lip, swallowing whatever rebuttal he had down his throat. “Affaire?” Guy-Man removed a hand from the record and extended it at his counterpart, glancing up at him expectantly, to which Thomas was quick to snatch with his own and shake it. The enthusiasm in his movement earned a smirk from the shorter man, who was the first to reach for his wallet. 

Success never knocked so loud; he had an excuse to befriend Thomas now.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i really did not?  
> plan?  
> on continuing?  
> anything i don  
> t  
> ?
> 
> special thanks to lily again SIGH what would i be without her


End file.
